Shock
There’s a man that follows me, constantly wailing. If I sit anywhere, he puts his mouth right to my ear, to wail. When I walk anywhere, he is directly a step behind me, wailing at the back of my head. He’s been doing this for as long as I can remember. When I try to speak to him, he just wails louder. Tears constantly come out of his eyes. Every night, as soon as I fall asleep, he stops wailing and watches me sleep. When I wake up, he greets me with the wailing that had been pent up, building in him as I slept. His morning wailing is also his most intense wailing. In job interviews, my interviewer always asks me who he is. He’s my Wailer I say. He’s a part of me, been so as long as I can remember. I have difficulty in finding, or keeping, any sort of jobs, so I can’t afford any sort of apartment, or other living arrangement. We often sleep in dark alleyways. I share my food with him, but he always gets it all over himself, like an infant. He doesn’t know when to stop wailing, and when to start eating. I can’t find a woman who will tolerate the noise, or who isn’t frightened by being watched during sleep. People constantly give me strange looks, and people often tell me how much easier my life could be, if I could just figure out a way to get rid of my Wailer, but he’s the most beautifully sympathetic creature I’ve ever witnessed, crying and wailing over each and every aspect of my life. He makes me feel as if my life was a feeling, one giant emotion, being felt in an instant, but lasting forever.
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